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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25601206">On With The Show</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabella/pseuds/Kabella'>Kabella</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Bass - Freeform, Dangerous Job, Death, Dreams, Hurt/Pain, M/M, Might Need Tissues, Sad, Stealing, Stranger - Freeform, Sunset Strip, Suzie - Freeform, Wayward, fears, home again, hopefully not by the end, protector - Freeform, rescuing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:27:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,824</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25601206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kabella/pseuds/Kabella</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A story based on the lyrics of On With The Show with a Terror Twins twist. </p><p>Frankie is wayward. Tommy is just doing his job. An incident brings them together. A friendship blossoms with big dreams for their futures. </p><p>Only something happens that changes the course of that....</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tommy Lee/Nikki Sixx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, here I am continuing on with my series of one shots for the Too Fast For Love album. Ha, what a joke. If you read my stuff, you know that me and one shots don't have a good track record. They turn into fucking books or mini-series. This one is no different.</p><p>So, with this song title, I had the idea to just tell a little tale following the story that the lyrics tell, with a Terrorcest twist, Tommy would be Suzie. Only it didn't work out that way. My brain started collecting ideas. Bad, because I can't stop writing, so things get way too long. Good, because this would have been the saddest little tale ever. It still is, but I tried to bring it back into a different place by the end.</p><p>This, I consider AU because Tommy is not in the right timeline, but then he kind of is. Yeah, it's weird, you'll see. There's some weird shit. Not stuff that I typically write. Also, I didn't mention their ages here, but I guess consider Tommy around 16 and Frankie around 17, 18 tops.</p><p>It's long, so I'm breaking it up into chapters, but I'm posting them all at once. I think this story needs the ending available to read.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was 1978 and a young Frankie arrives in L.A., shaking the dust off his boots, full of hopes and dreams of making it big someday in the bright, fast-paced city. He had nowhere to go, and only a small wad of bills stashed on himself to get him through the first few days, a knapsack with a few clothes, a notebook, and his true love at his side; his bass guitar. Frankie considered hocking it more times than he’d like to admit, but a solution to whatever his financial crisis at hand was, would always seem to come through at the eleventh hour. The aftermath always made the bassist feel guilty. He and that 6-string had been through a lot together. It was like his girlfriend. He even gave her a name, Suzie. How could he even think about putting her in hock, yet here he is again, that very thought running through his head, as he scans the prices for rooms for rent around here. But, Frankie knows he has purpose here, and it’s not just to scratch and survive by pawning his only valued possession.</p><p> </p><p>He only has enough money for a few nights; that’s with no food. Frankie sits on a bus bench, running one hand along the tattered guitar case, using the other to hold his chin up. If only he had a friend here. Just one is all he needs. Somewhere to crash until he can find a job. Friendships never came easily for Frankie. He moved around a lot, never staying in one place long enough to forge one. </p><p> </p><p>Frankie’s 6 ft frame was intimidating to many, along with intimidating features, like piercings, his piecey, shoulder-length long reddish-brown hair with an under section dyed a darker color, or the ever-present scowl upon his face with his fierce eyes. He often noticed people crossing the road to the other side as they approached each other on the sidewalk. Sometimes it gave Frankie a huge boost of confidence. It let him know that the average person wasn’t going to get in his way and fuck with him. On the other hand, sometimes he wondered why. Am I that bad? Inside, I’m really just a boy with dreams. But with no one alongside him for the journey ahead, he’s had to blaze his own trail, and find sometimes the most unconventional ways to keep moving forward. It hardened his exterior shell.</p><p> </p><p>So now, here he is on a bench on the streets of L.A. He made it here himself, but once he stepped off that bus, on a corner on Sunset Boulevard, what’s next? He’s tired and hungry, not daring to sleep on the bus, fearful of theft or assault. He has no shelter and no friends, except Suzie, who he’s once again considering betraying.</p><p> </p><p>The sun has set behind the skyline, and the neon lights and car lights soon lit up the streets. The sounds and buzzing were mesmerizing to the wayward bass player, who’s been occasionally pulling out his flask of 80% vodka, as he watches the world go by like a movie out of focus. His mind is now blank and the colors and sounds are blending into a sweet lullaby, as young Frankie’s exhausted body drifts off to an unintended sleep; his head leaning against the sun shelter and Suzie tucked between his leg and the wall of the structure.</p><p> </p><p>Frankie feels a tug, followed by a sudden lurching of his body against the shelter wall. His eyes burst open, and it takes just a split second to notice….. “Suzie!!!” the bass player shrieks as he sees a man running off with his beloved down the animated sidewalk. He starts to give chase, but given his drunken state, he stumbles to the ground after just a few feet. As he picks himself up, he notices a blurry figure run past him, in the same direction of the thief. Once on his feet again, Frankie’s adrenaline kicks in, and he starts charging down the sidewalk as fast as he can go in the direction that the other two went. He’s gotta get to Suzie. She’s all he has. </p><p> </p><p>Frankie pushes past people just moseying along, and maneuvers swiftly to avoid stationary obstacles, like mailboxes and lampposts. He feels fear and nausea creeping up, scared he’s lost them…. They got away, and Suzie is gone forever. But he continues the pursuit, crossing a side road, seeing out of his peripheral vision, two figures down that side road, engaged in combat. He quickly changes direction down that narrow street, and sees a tall figure hunched over another figure, prone on the ground. The tall one is throwing punches. And there’s Suzie on the ground on the far side of them. As Frankie approaches, the tall figure sits upright on his haunches, out of breath, seemingly satisfied with the mess he created lying on the ground in front of him. Before Frankie has a chance to grab Suzie and get the hell out of there, the tall one gets to his feet, and picks up the case. </p><p> </p><p>Frankie’s instincts, to protect his love, kick in and he ambushes the tall figure, knocking him to the ground. He spits on him, reaches for Suzie for the rescue, then turns on his heel to leave.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, fuck you! I was just trying to get it back for you!” the tall one yells, still sitting on the street. </p><p> </p><p>Frankie doesn’t acknowledge him, and just continues on his way. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey dickhead! A thanks would be nice!” </p><p> </p><p>No stranger is going to put his hands on his love. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck you, you ungrateful bastard!” </p><p> </p><p>He trusts no one, and turns the corner, not looking back.</p><p> </p><p>Frankie wanders the block for about 10 minutes, clutching Suzie tightly. He’s shaken, and a tear or two escape his eyes. It wasn’t the guys or the fighting or the risk of potential retaliation, it was the fear of loss. Even though he’s considered giving up Suzie himself, he knows he never actually would. It means being alone. She’s his only friend and the only thing familiar to him. He let her down. He let himself down. He needs her to accomplish what he’s set out to do here. How could he let himself fall asleep like that. This is the exact reason why he can’t ever let himself appear weak. </p><p> </p><p>Frankie can’t let himself appear weak, but he can’t help but feel weak. That sprint down the sidewalk emptied him of all of his energy reserves. He hasn’t eaten in 36 hours, and has only been drinking vodka and water from a water fountain at the last bus depot. He sees a little corner diner, named Jack’s, and reluctantly makes the decision to go in and spend a little bit of his meager bankroll on sustenance, and to have a safe place to take a load off. </p><p> </p><p>Frankie is led to a booth. He takes a copy of a free booklet of want ads, as he follows the hostess. He slips Suzie into the booth first, then himself.</p><p> </p><p>“What can I get you, hun?” the waitress says.</p><p> </p><p>“Coffee, water, and fries, please.”</p><p> </p><p>Frankie is starving, but doesn’t want to spend anymore than he has to. He just needs to warm his bones and curb his hunger, and then he’ll be fine. And eventually check out his elbow that he fell on. It hurts. He’ll visit the bathroom before leaving. He opens the book of ads to scan for rooms for rent and odd jobs, as he waits for his nourishment.</p><p> </p><p>After a few seconds, without looking up, Frankie senses a figure looming over him. He instinctively puts his hand on the case handle to protect it. When he does look up, he sees a tall, skinny kid with long, dark hair standing in his view.</p><p> </p><p>“You got a problem?” Frankie asks, furrowing his brow.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you,” the kid growls back.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck off,” Frankie says, going back to the ads.</p><p> </p><p>The figure stands there for another moment before moving. Frankie assumes he’s backing down since he didn’t take the stranger’s bait, when instead, the figure slides into the other side of the booth.</p><p> </p><p>“I said to fuck off,” Frankie says, not bothering to look up.</p><p> </p><p>“I was trying to get your guitar back for you,” the stranger says.</p><p> </p><p>Frankie looks up. “Excuse me?”</p><p> </p><p>“I was about ready to take a seat on the bench next to you to wait for the next bus, when I caught the tail end of someone lifting your guitar. I chased him down since your drunk-ass couldn’t do it yourself. I was going to give it back to you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a bass guitar,” Frankie goes back to the ads.</p><p> </p><p>“Unbelievable,” the stranger huffs. That’s all this guy has to say, a passive-aggressive correction.</p><p> </p><p>“Were you invited to sit here?” Frankie says, waiting for an answer. </p><p> </p><p>The waitress comes back with his order, sets it down and leaves.</p><p> </p><p>The tall kid starts to get up from the booth, looking at the pathetic meal. “No good deed goes unpunished,” he says, stepping way. He gets about halfway to the door then turns around, coming back to the table, standing in front of Frankie. “Seen this before, you know. Hot shots, coming here to The Strip, trying to make it. Some do, but the ones like you die lonely in the streets. You’d be wise to take your attitude down a notch. It doesn’t work around these parts.” He walks away again.</p><p> </p><p>Against his better judgement, Frankie calls out, “Hey!”</p><p> </p><p>The kid looks back, and sees the bass player motioning with his arm to come back. Frankie gestures for the stranger to sit again.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks. OK?” Frankie says in a matter-of-fact tone.</p><p> </p><p>“OK. Well, I don’t want to interrupt you from eating. I came in here to get a pastry to-go before the next bus comes, and then I saw you sitting here. I just…. well, I was pissed. I could’ve gotten my ass kicked by that guy. I don’t even know why I ran after him for you. Some people are quick to kill. I just hate seeing injustices, I guess. Well, enjoy,” the kid says, getting up again. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll buy your pastry for you,” Frankie offers, holding a dollar out.</p><p> </p><p>The stranger smirks and shakes his head, “Thanks. Keep it. I appreciate the offer though.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sit down. I could use the company of someone, I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>“OK. I guess since you’re not being a dick anymore, I’ll entertain your offer. I can always catch the next bus.”</p><p> </p><p>“Running away somewhere?”</p><p> </p><p>“No. Um, going home. I do some odd jobs around this area.”</p><p> </p><p>“What kind? Know anyone hiring? I hate calling about these fucking job listings. It’s a waste of time. I find word of mouth is usually better.”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, Well, I run errands for people.”</p><p> </p><p>Frankie purses his lips, and brings them to a smirk; guessing that this kid is a runner for some sort of black market street job. “I’ve done jobs like that. Got a contact?”</p><p> </p><p>The stranger stares off to the side in thought for a few moments. “I can ask my boss, but I can’t put you in touch with him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks. Want a french fry?”</p><p> </p><p>The stranger stares at the meager offering of 5 fries left. He’s a little hungry, but can sense that this miscreant needs them more than he does. “Nah, thanks. I’m good.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ok,” Frankie says, finishing the plate off.</p><p> </p><p>“You got a phone number or something?” the kid asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Um, no. I--” </p><p> </p><p>“Where you staying?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know yet.” Frankie admits.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, it might be a little hard for me to follow up with you about the job.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe we can meet somewhere at a certain time? Frankie says, mindlessly tapping on his watch.”</p><p> </p><p>“Need a place to stay the night? I got room.”</p><p> </p><p>“No. I’m fine. I’ll find something,” Frankie says, putting his hand back on the case.</p><p> </p><p>“Streets aren’t safe. There’s some rooms, but just be careful in some areas,” the stranger warns. He drums his fingers on the table. “So are you looking to get into the music scene here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Wasn’t gonna happen in my small town. I was too big for that place anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“I play drums, but I don’t have them anymore. I kinda half got kicked out of my house, and half left on my own. It was just one hell of a fight between me and my parents. I had to leave my kit there. But, someday, I’m going to do something with them. It’s why I’m working so much. Just trying to get on my feet, so I can do what I really want to do.”</p><p> </p><p>Frankie smiles, and it’s softer this time. “If I can get into your line of work, maybe we can pool our money together, and then find a singer and guitarist.” He’s half joking when he says that, but maybe it just came out because in some ways, maybe it’s not such a bad idea. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Guess we got some things in common. I know a few people who’ve gotten into bands on the Strip. I know I will someday. But can’t do shit without my drums. You’re kinda lucky that your instrument is portable.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. She’s all I kinda got. Um, hey…. Thanks again for getting her back. I just don’t know who’s out for good and who’s out for bad. Been burned too many times. Uh, sorry for attacking. My bass means a lot to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s OK. Far from the first street fight I’ve been in. I’m Tommy by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>“Frankie,” he says, extending his hand to shake. “And this is Suzie. I named her. The only friend I have.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy smiles, “I get it…. Hey man, take a load off. Come crash at my place. I rent a half-converted garage from a little old lady. She’s a blind as a bat, and doesn’t hear well either. I can sneak you in easily, and if she hears you, she’ll think it’s my radio. Plus she goes to bed really early. I can use some company sometimes too. Um, my one friend who I used to talk to a lot about music, recently got arrested.” </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t know me,” Frankie says, arching his eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy shrugs. “I know you like music. I know you’re willing to work. I figure if you were going to kill me, you would have done it earlier in the alley. Might only have to worry about whether you’re going to steal from me.” </p><p>Tommy doesn’t exactly know why he’s doing this. Frankie could take off with everything he owns, plus everything the landlady owns. For whatever reason, he just feels sorry for this guy. And he likes that he’s into music. Plus, well, he’s kind of handsome in a freakazoid way. Tommy’s always had an eye for unique looking guys even though he’s only been with girls. There’s all kinds of strange people around here. Pretty much anything goes. Tommy buys into the ambiguity of the street scene here. Having freedom to choose what you want is freeing, rather than adhering to the confines of what society thinks is normal. He was close to his jailbird friend. They palled around, and leaned on one another. There were hints of something burgeoning between the two, but he was caught dealing H. He’ll be in for a while. Tommy will move on.</p><p> </p><p>“You know what? I will take your offer. I’m a little tired, and well, it might just be nice to have a safe place to lay my head tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Frankie doesn’t know why he’s accepting this offer. Maybe he’s going to be led into someone’s underground den to have his organs harvested or somewhere to be groomed. It could all be a set-up. Tommy is the bait. The cute ones are often used as scouts. On the other hand, this kid rescued Suzie. He can’t be that bad. God, he’s just so fucking tired. The exhaustion from a long bus ride, roaming the streets, and lack of food is hitting him hard. His elbow is throbbing. He thinks he should take the chance. It might be worse to end up on the street for the night.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy looks at his watch. “Come on. There’s another bus in less than 10 minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>Frankie pays his tab and steps into the bathroom to piss and check out his injury. It’s just an abrasion… just hurts like a bitch though.  On the way out he buys the kid his danish anyway. Tommy returns the favor by paying for Frankie’s bus fare.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy leads Frankie off of the bus at his stop. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s quiet here,” Frankie observes.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, and I’m right here. I got my own entrance. Shhh,” Tommy says, inserting his key.</p><p> </p><p>Frankie stands back, and positions himself to run like hell if he senses danger or sees people waiting for him with rope or guns, as the door cracks open. Once Tommy flips the light switch on, it appears safe to Frankie. It’s just a room.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy closes the door and locks it. “It’s not much. It came furnished. I got a bed, an old couch, a few chairs, and a table. I keep my clothes in boxes. A toaster oven and half-sized fridge, plus a slop sink, tucked in the corner of the unfinished portion of the garage. I can go in and use the bathroom in the laundry area. My landlady, Ellie, has a locked security door between us, but sometimes she comes in for laundry.” </p><p> </p><p>“Cool set up. I guess it’s all you need, right?” Frankie says.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. I’m easy to please. Gets chilly sometimes. I have a kerosene heater when it gets too cold. It’s not too bad tonight. Um, feel free to turn my radio on. That’s all I got for entertainment. I had a stereo at home, but my dad refused to let me take it. It’s mine, given to me as a birthday gift, but somehow, that means shit when I wanna take it with me. So I left all my records there too. KLOS is a good channel though. They play a lot of what I like. Don’t knock around the antenna though. Gotta keep it pointed towards the window for reception.”</p><p> </p><p>“Frankie turns it on. He smiles,”The Stooges.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, they play a lot of stuff like this,” Tommy says, pulling his pants off right in front of Frankie, and slipping sweats on.</p><p> </p><p>Frankie finds that strange. It didn’t bother him. He himself, just wouldn’t do that. He feels protective over his body.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, I’m gonna use the bathroom. Um, I hope you don’t rob me. I don’t have much, but I’d be pissed and really bored if you took off with my radio. If you’re still here when I return, maybe we can talk about music some more.” Tommy keeps his wallet on him as he heads into the bathroom, just in case Frankie turns on him. And his cash wad is stashed somewhere tight, where an intruder won’t find it.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be here,” Frankie says, going over to sit on the couch.</p><p> </p><p>Once Tommy disappears inside the house, Frankie kicks his boots off. He keeps his jacket on because his cash is stashed in the lining of it. He puts his feet up, leans back, and shuts his eyes to soak in the sound of the music.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy returns to the garage about 5 minutes later, and his mental alarm starts sounding when he doesn’t immediately see Frankie anymore…. Until he spots him, reclined on the couch. He figured that he’d be sitting up or even standing checking things out, so it freaked him out for a few seconds when he didn’t see his tall frame looming somewhere in the room. He walks over to the bass player, and determines that he’s asleep already. Tommy breathes a sigh of relief. It seems like this strange street roamer is not going to kill him or steal his things and take off. He takes the extra folded blanket at the bottom of his bed to cover Frankie. It will get cool overnight.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy sits on his bed, facing the couch, to get a better look at this runaway. He can’t be much older than himself; definitely still a teenager. He’s handsome too, with his sharp features. Some of their interests and goals are the same. Maybe a friendship is in the stars for these two? </p><p> </p><p>Tommy has been lonely. He won’t admit it, but he misses home. Or maybe he misses someone caring about him. Living on your own has its advantages, but it gets really lonely, especially with no TV, no stereo, no phone, no sister screaming her lungs out for attention, no hollering up the stairs by mom to be told that a home-cooked dinner is ready. It’s frightening here at times too. Nighttime noises outside, close to his home, bussing and walking home by himself after dark. He usually tries to get home before the sunset, but it doesn’t always work out that way. It didn’t work out that way tonight. He misses his friend in jail. He definitely wanted some company. “Sweet dreams, Frankie,” Tommy whispers, as he slips under the cover of his bed.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Four weeks later - </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie is still staying at Tommy’s apartment. He just never left, and Tommy, by day two, hoped that he wouldn’t. He even got an extra key made for Frankie. The 2 musicians seemed to hit it off with their musical interests, building plans to one day put a band together. They spent a lot of time talking about that. They were so passionate and excited about it, that it all seemed in reach.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy tried to get Frankie a job, but his boss said no. He’s very selective, and this Frankie kid is too new to the area. About a week later, Frankie found an odd job at a garden apartment complex, doing groundskeeping. The meager pay was under the table, and given to him in cash. He would pass some of it along to a friendly co-worker, who would buy alcohol for them on payday. He’d use the rest to buy groceries for the week, and any remainder would go to Tommy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One night, after work. Frankie got home first, followed by Tommy - </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Shit, man. What happened?” Frankie says, concerned, seeing a swollen and bloody contusion on Tommy’s cheekbone, with the start of a black eye forming as he came through the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m fine. I just had a little trouble at my last delivery.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who’s ass do I have to kick?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No one’s. Don’t get involved.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You said this job wasn’t dangerous.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s not, if you know what you’re doing. I made a mistake.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, I don’t like that you get your face busted for a mistake.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m lucky that’s all I got. But it was my fault. I mixed up two deliveries. One was not happy, but was OK with it. He got the correct stuff by the end of the day. But the other one wasn’t having it. I just gotta be more careful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want you to get hurt.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I won’t anymore. I’ll be more careful. This job pays too well to let it go. We’ll be able to make our dreams come true so much faster.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not if you’re dead.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Frankie, it’s OK. This won’t happen again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lay down. Let me get ice. Do you have a first aid kit?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, but there’s some stuff in the bathroom.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“OK. Be right back.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Careful. Make sure Ellie’s door is closed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I make sure every time, both in and out of the bathroom. I have a good ear too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie comes back in just a minute. “I got Mercurochrome, and I found an empty ice pack under the sink. Lemme put a few ice cubes in.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh god. No Mercurochrome. That shit stings.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t know what was on that diseased hand that punched you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m fine, Frankie. Just ice,” Tommy pleads.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie turns on the radio, then sits on the bed near Tommy’s head; who’s already wincing before he’s even touched.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie clears Tommy’s hair away from his face. “Close your eyes, and listen to the music,” Frankie says in a soft voice, as he dabs a medicine soaked cotton ball on the injury.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The drummer jumps at the initial pain, and squeezes his eyes tighter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie stops playing nurse for a second, putting his hand on Tommy’s arm. “Tell me, what song is playing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tonight by the Raspberries,” the drummer whimpers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just listen<em> …. but when you smiled I had to take a chance. I had to take a chance and be with you. Tonight, I’ll be with you tonight…., </em>” Frankie sings, along with the radio. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy takes deep breaths, soothed by Frankie’s voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There. It’s clean. Keep the ice pack on. OK?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy opens his eyes. He sees Frankie walking towards the slop sink to wash his hands. On his way back to the bed, he shuts the radio off, and picks up Suzie.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I always liked that song. I taught myself part of the bass tracks,” Frankie says strapping the bass on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He plays what he knows, singing along. The music from a bass is hard to appreciate without the melody laid over it, but any musician can still appreciate the sound. No song is complete without the bassline. It’s anemic without it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That’s good, Frankie. I think you got the rhythm nailed down.” Tommy says, holding the ice pack over his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He pats Suzie and does a little freestyle jamming for a few more minutes, ending with a few lines from “Tonight” again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you think our band should be like? Frankie asks, putting the bass down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cool as fuck,” Tommy replies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We can both agree on that. I just want something that’s going to be different. Maybe like a mash-up of different genres. We need to look good too,” Frankie says, gazing out into the distance. “Hey, let me put Suzie away, and I’ll get 2 potpies into the toaster oven for dinner. Then we should make a list of the ideas that we have for our band. I think that I have some ideas for songwriting.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sounds good,” Tommy says, smiling as his friend hops around the room, taking care of him. Frankie and his lists. He’s always jotting stuff down in his tattered notebook. Tommy couldn’t ask for a better friend. He found a true diamond in the rough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Later that night, Frankie slips into bed behind Tommy, and wraps his arm around him. They’ve been sleeping like that before the first week was even over. The first night that happened, Tommy heard a rattling on his outside doorknob. It freaked him out. Frankie leapt off the couch, grabbed a metal pipe that was lying against the wall of the unfinished part of the garage, near the sink. He flung the door open, in time to see a dark figure run off. Frankie gave chase for half a block, waving the pipe, then turned back. The perp was long gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie came back in, shut and locked the door, and turned the light back down. He could tell that Tommy was upset.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you OK?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m OK. It’s just that I’m not used to this. I never felt scared or unsafe when I was living at home,” Tommy replies. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You ever consider going back home?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Too stubborn. I like being able to do my own thing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, you should think about it. You should try to go home some day. You don’t want to lose your touch with your drums either.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Frankie…. That guy could have had a gun. He could have shot you,” Tommy says, in almost a whisper.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just wanted to scare him off, so he doesn’t come around here again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just stay close to me next time,” Tommy pleads.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie climbed in next to Tommy, and pulled him tight, saying nothing else. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s been like that every night since, and it’s Tommy’s favorite part of the day. No kissing, no grinding. Just an occasional caress from Frankie’s fingers. He feels safe and comforted, every night now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-----------------------</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The following evening was the same, Frankie arriving home before Tommy. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How was your day? Better I hope?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well, yeah. I didn’t get physically assaulted today,” Tommy replies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie can tell that something is bothering him, but decides to let him unwind first. Tommy is typically tight-lipped about his job woes; maybe he’ll be more open if he’s relaxed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After dinner, Frankie asks, “Anything happen at work today? I had to clean vomit up from the pool deck. A kid yacked her lunch up all over the place. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lucky you,” Tommy says, with a smirk. “My day was fine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then what’s wrong?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nothing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on, Tommy. I can tell. Something is bothering you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy sighs, “Tomorrow, I have to go make a delivery to that place again. The one from yesterday.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let me come with you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, you’ll get me fired. I’ll be fine. I just….. I’ll be fine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tommy, just don’t do it then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have to. I’ll get fired. It’s not a big deal.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie nods. He’s already decided that he’s going to skip work, and do his best to shadow Tommy tomorrow without being seen. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to his friend. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m gonna take a shower. Um, then probably get to bed. I know it’s early, but I just feel worn out,” Tommy says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“OK. I’m tired too. It’s getting darker earlier. I think that kind of messes with my mind. Maybe tomorrow night, since it’s Friday, we can go out to eat at Jack’s diner, and talk more about our plans. Just do something fun, together.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy smiles, “Yeah. Let’s do that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>45 minutes later, the two teenagers are lying in bed. Frankie’s arm is fitted a little more snuggly around Tommy, while Tommy lays his hand on top of Frankie’s, stroking it until he falls asleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---------------------</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The next morning, the two friends get ready for work. Tommy, who’s leaving first, is compelled to give Frankie a hug.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie doesn’t want to let go of him. He doesn’t want Tommy to go to work today.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“See you later, OK?” the drummer says.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“OK. Be safe, and can’t wait until tonight,” Frankie smiles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Me too, and I will.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie knows where Tommy takes the bus to. He’s going to be on the next one himself, and then just start looking high and low for him. He knows that he often stops in a certain corner quickie mart for a cheap lunch or drink, so if he can’t track him down earlier, at least he should be able to find him by lunch time. Frankie can only hope that this troublesome delivery is after lunch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a ski hat and cheap sunglasses, Frankie arrives downtown, and starts the hunt, his backpack in tow. It always goes with him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few hours pass by, and Frankie hasn’t had any success in finding Tommy. It’s time to sit on a bench on the opposite side of the street from the convenience store and watch for him to show up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, around 12:30, Frankie sees Tommy go into the store. He’s so relieved. Now he’s just going to shadow him for the rest of day, and hopefully not be spotted by maintaining his distance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy is in the store for about 5 minutes. He comes out, and sits on a bench near the store to eat his food. His steady schedule of daily rituals helps him manage his hyperactivity, otherwise he’d most likely be running amok.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The drummer is finished eating, and on the move again. Frankie gets up to follow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy’s all over the place. He just completed his 3rd delivery. On the way to the next one, he detours into a small park, and takes a seat on a bench. He leans back, wringing his hands, occasionally rubbing them across his face. He seems distressed. Frankie, standing far back, obscured by the flora, is pretty sure that he’s bracing himself for the next delivery. This must be the one that’s making him nervous. The only problem is, Frankie has to piss badly. He sees a spot that offers some privacy. He has to go, or his pants are going to be wet soon. When he steps back out, he sees that Tommy is gone. FUCK!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s only been about 90 seconds. He hopes he can catch up. He picks up the pace, but the path through the park ends up back on a bustling street. God, which way did he go?! Frankie chooses to go left, since right will eventually lead back towards the way he just came from. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie is frantic, not having an eye back on Tommy yet. He continues at a fast pace down the road, and soon comes upon an abandoned looking warehouse. There’s something about this that’s making the hair on the back of his neck bristle. Tommy is around here somewhere. He goes down along the side of the building, carefully. Upon reaching the corner, he conspicuously peers around it. No one is there, so he continues walking the perimeter. He can now hear voices. Someone is yelling something in a threatening tone. Frankie’s instinct to protect his friend kicks in and he charges towards the voices. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s an open garage bay. He looks in and sees Tommy being held by someone with a knife on his neck, and another person in his face. Frankie doesn’t hesitate, throwing his knapsack off, he rushes in towards them and sacks the one in Tommy’s face. Both landing on the ground. He’s throwing punches, when he suddenly feels something hot in his back, and then again. He stops punching, putting his hands on the ground. He can’t catch his breath. It hurts when he inhales. He can hear Tommy screaming. It’s in slow-motion though. Frankie cranes his head, turning around from being on his knees to sitting on his ass, in time to see Tommy being shoved to the ground, and the guy with the switchblade coming back towards him. That must be what he felt in his back. Frankie tries to grab the arm of the knifeman, but his reflexes are too slow. There’s more pain, and he feels himself being pulled backwards to the ground, probably by the other guy. He’s on his back, and the knife comes at him again. There’s nothing he can do to fight back at this point. It is what is. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie isn’t aware of when the stabbing stopped and when the men left, he just sees Tommy in his face screaming and crying. The bass player is in a daze. Everything feels heavy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Frankie!!!” screeches out of Tommy mouth, only it sounds distant and muffled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look at me. Look at me, Frankie! You’re gonna be OK….. oh god, you’re gonna be OK,” Tommy chokes out. “Somebody help!! HELP!!!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tommy lifts Frankie into his arms. “Stay with me. Please don’t leave me. I need you. Please...Frankie,” the drummer says, his hand stroking his friend’s hair, as he cradles him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie can only say, “I’m gonna die.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, no. No. Help is coming,” Tommy weeps. “Please hold on. Please. I got you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Frankie has a brief moment of clarity. “Tommy, you make our dreams come true, OK.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh god, Frankie. Stay with me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It hurts.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s OK. I got you. Shhhhhh. I got you. Close your eyes, and just listen to the music. I’ll take care of you Frankie….. <em> but when you smiled I had to take a chance. I had to take a chance and be with you. Tonight, I’ll be with you tonight….” </em> Tommy sobs. <em> “ </em>Frankie. I love you,” he says, kissing his forehead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Frankie?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>-----------------------</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s morning - </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s been lying in bed, staring out into nothing. His crying eyes hurt. Everything hurts. Frankie died in his arms yesterday. He’s gone, and never coming back home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The police were summoned to the area yesterday. Someone reported screaming and cries for help. Once the emergency vehicles arrived, Tommy had to let go. He was ushered away from Frankie. Somebody wrapped a blanket around his shoulders as he sat, but all he could do was stare; willing with all of his might that they’ll wake him up and save him. But it didn’t go that way. He watched them take his friend away on a stretcher underneath a sheet, and that was it. Tommy had some minor injuries, but refused treatment. Then he had to answer some questions from the police. He’s not even sure what he told them. Everything coming out of his mouth sounded like a foreign language.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s your friend’s name?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Frankie.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Last name?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t know. He never knew Frankie’s last name. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That question repeats in his head over and over. Who was Frankie? Where did he come from? Tommy really doesn’t know anything about him, except that he was the best friend he ever had. The person he was supposed to live his dream with.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The drummer doesn’t know how he made it home last night. He knows that he dropped the money he collected from his deliveries to the drop off place, for the final time. It’s done. He never should have taken a job like that. He never should have told Frankie anything about it. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, anything, ever. He did, and now that person he told is dead. It should have been him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>--------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy stayed inside his apartment for nearly a week, barely moving from his bed, only getting up for basic necessities; his eyes gazing upon Suzie, leaning up against the wall, for a good portion of each day. He’s pretty much in a comatose state of mind, lonely, scared, cold, and in pain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One thing that Tommy kept hearing in his head was Frankie’s voice saying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You should try to go home someday….” </span>
  </em>
  <span>His drums are there, and Frankie told him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>make their dreams come true. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He just doesn’t know how to do that without him. Frankie was everything his dream centered around.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This apartment has become a physical place of pain for Tommy. He’s gonna go home.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The following day Tommy went home. He took a cab ride there. Upon arriving, he knocked on the door with a hitch in his breath and his heart pounding. His mom answered the door, his dad right behind her. She put her hand to her mouth, gasping. Tommy fell into her arms crying, while she wrapped hers tightly around him, crying too. “My baby. My baby is home.” His dad stepped around behind him, and hugged him from behind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After a lot of crying and a long talk, Tommy’s parents welcomed him back home. A little later that day, his dad drove him back to his apartment so that he could pack up his stuff, and give Ellie the key back and the final month’s rent. The elderly lady hugged him, telling him he was a delight to have around. Makes Tommy feel a little guilty that he hid Frankie from her. She never knew he was there. She never knew that this most incredible person was there….</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy loads his belongings into the trunk of the car. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A guitar, Tom?” his dad questions.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a bass guitar. Um, it belonged to my friend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he going to come back for it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy hesitates, taking a deep breath. Aside from the police, he’s never spoken to anyone about Frankie or his death. Nobody knew him. “No, um… he had an accident. He died.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, I’m sorry, son. Were you close?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah dad, we were close. It’s OK, but I have a favor to ask. Can we go up to this apartment complex a few blocks away. He worked there. I’m not sure if they know what happened. I--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. We can stop by,” his dad says, shutting the trunk. “What happened.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t talk about it, dad. It’s still pretty raw.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. Just know that mom and I are here for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks. Just head up this road. I’ll tell you where to turn.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy leaves the apartment’s complex office and gets back into his car. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You OK, son?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, let’s go home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy stays silent during the ride. The manager at the apartments, didn’t know what happened to Frankie. He appreciated being filled in. What struck Tommy was that they had no information on him. Tommy asked, hoping they’d have some sort of identifying information about him, but they only knew him as Frankie; Frankie the kid. He was paid cash, under the table, so no other info was needed. It’s like he came in with the wind, and left just the same. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as they arrive home, Tommy brings his things inside, up to his room. He tells his parents that he wants to lay down for a while. He gets onto his bed, it feels kind of like a familiar hug; comforting… which is good because another flood of tears start pouring out. Frankie was pretty much the most amazing person he’s ever known, yet nobody knows anything about him. Why didn’t he ask him more about where he came from or his family history. This amazing person pretty much ended up as a John Doe. Tommy wonders if anyone ever came to claim his body? Will he be buried in a potters field with only numbers to mark his plot? If Tommy could get him a headstone, it would say, “Frankie - </span>
  <em>
    <span>My dream maker. My best friend, forever in my heart.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Where’d he go? Tommy might even question whether he was real. Everything went with him when his body was carried away on a stretcher; his knapsack with his notebook, his jacket, his wallet, if he even had one. He always just seemed to pull dollar bills out of nowhere. Everything of his is gone, except her…. Suzie, now leaning up against Tommy’s wall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-----------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Six weeks have passed since Tommy’s been home, and seven weeks since Frankie died. He’s been trying to get back to a so-called normal existence; working odd jobs, around the neighborhood, like mowing lawns. On occasion, seeing a few of his high school friends. They seem bland to Tommy, but he’s trying to move himself forward. Some days, he gets on his drum kit. It’s painful. He hears Frankie’s voice </span>
  <em>
    <span>...you don’t want to lose touch with your drums…. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He tries, but it hurts. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>However, on most days, he sits on his bed, often staring at Suzie…… that’s what he’s doing today. He sighs. He sometimes thinks that maybe he should have turned her over to the police so that she could have been buried with him; so they’d be together and not lonely. But, they probably wouldn’t put the bass in with him. It would probably be stored in some forgotten evidence room; forever.  So, as much as he wants to keep her here, she needs to be with someone who’s going to love her and play her. The drummer picks the case up, and lays it on his bed. He opens the case. It takes his breath away. Tears surface, and pain creeps in. The last time he actually laid eyes on this beauty was when it was in Frankie’s hands, and he played the bassline for “Tonight.” Tommy runs his fingers along the strings. It sends chills up his spine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lifts Suzie up to see if there’s anything underneath her in the case. Anything else that may have belonged to Frankie. There’s nothing. Tommy slips a few fingers into the string and pick pockets of the case to check for anything there. In one he feels something and fishes it out. It’s a key. Tommy recognizes it immediately. It’s another spare key to his apartment with Ellie. Frankie told him that he got an extra copy, just in case. Tommy’s went back to Ellie. Frankie’s went with him and his belongings. This one must be Suzie’s. This is what Tommy is going to keep. His reminder of the fact that Frankie, his best friend, once existed. He sticks it in his wallet. He just wants a part of Frankie, and Suzie with him wherever he goes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy packs Suzie back up and decides to bring her down to the second-hand music store. He’s not sure if he’s ready to let go, but Suzie deserves to be brought back to life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The drummer walks in the store and goes right to the counter, noticing out of the corner of his eye, another customer browsing a selection of basses hanging on the wall. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I help you?” the shopkeeper asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, um. I was wondering if you could tell me what I can get for this?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy opens the case on the oversized counter. His heart hurts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, kid. I’ll be right back, I need to go get the guide for these Gibson Thunderbird basses,” the shopkeeper says, going in the back room.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy feels a presence come up behind him. “She’s beautiful. I’ll give you $10 over whatever offer you get.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t look up. “I’m not sure if I’m going to sell yet.” The stranger’s offer punches him right in the heart. He didn’t expect something like this, so fast.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Well, I’m looking for one just like this. My girlfriend just smashed mine, and locked me out of my apartment. She was throwing things at me. I basically got out with just the clothes on my back, and my wallet.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy nods his head, not really caring, as he waits.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I should be smarter with my money and find some place to go tonight, but I feel lost without my bass. I mean who gets thrown out, destitute, and then goes right to a music shop. It’s crazy, but this is like my lifeblood.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, man,” is all Tommy can say. He doesn’t look up, refusing to take his eyes off of Suzie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, no I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lay that on you. I guess I’m just kind of reeling still. She broke the only possession I ever cared about. Women, god I don’t even know why I bother trying anymore. None of the floozies I find seem to understand the heart of a musician, I guess. There’s gotta be someone out there who gets me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The drummer shrugs. The shopkeeper finally returns and throws an offer out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy can’t put a price on this girl. He can’t do it. The shopkeeper could have said a million dollars, and he still wouldn’t sell her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks. I appreciate your time. I’ll think about it,” Tommy says, packing Suzie back up, clicking the case shut.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turns towards the door to leave, not bothering to acknowledge the other potential buyer. Doesn’t matter. Tommy isn’t selling. But the stranger follows him out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey? How ‘bout it?” he says, placing his hand on the drummer’s shoulder, once they’re outside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy finally stops walking and turns around to tell the guy that he’ll have to just find something else, but only he can’t. He’s in shock. “Frankie?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“No, Nikki,” the stranger says with a cautious smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy blinks his eyes, trying to make sense of the person standing in front of him. He looks just like…… just his hair, it’s jet black and teased. “I… I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you OK, man?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you have a brother named Frankie?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but I used to go by Frank. I changed my name recently. Um, but I just moved here about a month ago and changed my name within the first few days. Maybe you’ve been up in Seattle where I came from?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No. I…. I think that I might need to sit down,” Tommy says, spying a bench nearby.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Need me to get you a drink or something. There’s a store right there,” Nikki says, pointing down the block.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No! I mean, no thanks. No, um, don’t go anywhere. I-- oh my god. You just look so much like someone I used to know,” Tommy says. He’s not sure what’s going on. This could be Frankie’s twin. Frankie has a twin, and he plays bass too? Frankie never mentioned family. But if this guy gets up and goes into the store for a drink, he’s going to disappear. This must be a dream. He doesn’t want him to disappear. Please let this be Frankie. I want more time with you. Don’t wake me up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey...kid. Are you there?” Nikki asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s mind comes back into the realm of reality. He knows he’s not dreaming, yet this guy is still here. He’s real. Tommy can’t help but ask, “Do you have a twin?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that I know of,” Nikki chuckles. “But, knowing my parents, it wouldn’t shock me if I did, and we separated. I had a little sister who disappeared.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Tommy says, now very interested in why this guy has to say.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it was because she was severely handicapped. My dad left us, and my mom couldn’t handle her specific needs. I never found out where my mom took her to, and I never saw her again. I was like 2 or 3 when it happened.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s OK. I’m determined to find her someday. Her name is Suzie.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy backs up on the bench away from Nikki. “OK, what the hell is going on. Who are you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nikki furrows his brow. “Told you my name is Nikki. I don’t know what else you mean. I just was interested in buying your bass.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you give me a minute. I think I’m losing my mind. This is crazy. Maybe those brownies at my friend’s house last night were laced with more than just pot,” Tommy says, holding his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure you don’t need a drink, man? You look a little pale. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but I swear I’m not punking you or anything. God, I just need a bass back in my hands. I came here to try to get into the music scene. I just have a lot of ideas and dreams, and well, I need a bass. I loved my Thunderbird. It just felt so right in my hands. Yours look just like mine did; well except not broken.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not mine. I play drums. It belonged to my friend Frankie. We were going to start a band together. We had big ideas. Frankie always dreamed big,” Tommy says, his eyes starting to flood with tears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I take it something happened to your friend?” Nikki asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy nods his head. “He died in my arms….. He saved my life. It would have been me. He was my best friend. My only true friend,” Tommy reveals, never before uttering details about Frankie’s death to anyone, as well as the devotion that he felt for him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry about your friend,” ikki says, softly. “May I ask why you’re selling his bass?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because it just sits in my room. He loved it so much, it needs…. she needs someone to love her again, not just sit to waste,” Tommy says, between sobs. “He named her. Her name is Suzie.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I guess I see why you’re getting freaked out. One of those weird coincidences, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think so, Nikki. It’s not coincidence. I just don’t know what going on is all.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well listen, man. The sun is going to set in a few hours. I have to find a place to stay tonight, and maybe tomorrow find a way to get my stuff back, or get back into the apartment. It’s my rental, not hers.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you call the police to have her removed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Heh. No can do. Um, we just have stuff… you know, gear…. She’ll rat me out. I’ll go to jail. So, like I said, I need to find somewhere to go tonight. So I guess, I’ll ask one more time about selling me the bass.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to sell it to you,” Tommy says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“OK. Well, good luck with everything. Sorry about your friend,” Nikki says, getting up to leave.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nikki…. I’m just going to give it to you. Somehow I think she’s meant to be yours. Don’t let that stupid bitch get her hands on her,” Tommy says, tears still coming down his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll pay you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t take money for her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nikki sits back down. “What can I do for you? What do you need?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t need anything. Just your word that you’ll take good care of Suzie.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I will. Uh…. I don’t know what else to say other than thanks. And your name?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Tommy. And I thought that I’d let you know that the last song that was played on her was “Tonight” by the Raspberries,” he says, a tear running down his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nikki smiles. “Really? I love that song. I learned the bassline for it,” Nikki says, running his fingers along the guitar case.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh course you know it,” Tommy smirks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two sit silent for a few moments.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nikki?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna go to Jack’s Diner with me? Maybe we can talk about music,” Tommy asks, a lump in his throat. That’s what he was supposed to do with Frankie that night of the day he died.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nikki thinks for a minute. He’s concerned about finding shelter, but can’t find it to say no. “Let’s go. My treat, Tommy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>----------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The pair walk a few blocks to the diner, Suzie in tow. They talk about their stories and their passions and dreams. Tommy can’t stop looking at Nikki’s handsome face. He just can’t understand it. Maybe Frankie’s eyes were a little bit more on the hazel side; well they were kind of flecked with all sorts of colors, always looking different in different light. They were amazing eyes. Nikki’s are full-on green, and mesmerizing. That’s all that seems different, and the black hair, which is obviously dyed. He can’t begin to guess Nikki’s natural color because the black matches his dark eyebrows. Their voices were similar, both soothing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You keep looking at me?” Nikki remarks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. I can’t help it. I’m just trying to understand how someone can look so much like someone else. I’m looking for differences, but there’s not many. You both even have a dimple when you smile.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That statement causes Nikki to drop his smile and purse his lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just not used to someone commenting on things like that. It makes me self-conscious.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just trying to say that you’re handsome, like Frankie was.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“OK. I don’t know if I ever had another guy tell me that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Tommy says, looking down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s OK. If you’re the one saying it, I think maybe I can make myself get used to it. It’s just different.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy picks his head back up, and feels a light smile spread across his face. He can’t remember the last time he had a smile that wasn’t forced. “So, you said your dad left you when you were little?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep. I talked to him once recently, but he pretty much hung up on me. I guess you can say that I don’t have a dad.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry. That must feel shitty. I...well... ok,  the reason I was asking was because I’m wondering if maybe he had another son after you with some other woman.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything is possible. I could have siblings out there that I don’t know about. But, two sons, both named after him?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, maybe he’s conceited,” Tommy shrugs with a smirk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe, Tommy,” Nikki smiles, kind of buying into Tommy’s logic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you got a last name?” Tommy asks. That sounded like a dumb thing to ask, but it just slipped out, having made that mistake with Frankie of never knowing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t everyone? Unless your Cher?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess. I’m sorry for asking. I don’t mean to be nosy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not nosy. I want my name known one of these days. It’s Sixx. Like six o’clock, but with a double X.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s cool. It’s a good name. I’m Tommy Bass. One day maybe I’ll come up with something cooler.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a great name, Tommy. I didn’t change mine to sound cooler. I just didn’t think that my dad deserved to have a son named after him. It was Frank Feranna, but no one else here in L.A. needs to know that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, thanks Nikki Sixx O’Clock with the double X.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Clever, aren’t you,” Nikki smiles. “You know I should get going though. I need to find somewhere to go tonight. The sun is already set. Although I’m considering quietly trying to break into my place. I want the rest of my stuff. I have notebooks and shit that are important to me. But I don’t want someone to call the cops.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that girl will call the cops.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s not there right now. She’s a stripper; she’s at work.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Nikki. Take me there. I’ll help. I have a little ingenuity within me,” Tommy smiles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, man. I don’t want you tangled up in this domestic dispute.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck. I’ve been holing up in my parent’s house for weeks on end. I feel like having a little adventure tonight,” Tommy says, also not willing to lose sight of Nikki yet. “But, you also said the lease is under your name. Can’t you just get the landlord involved?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh, she’s old. She’s a diabetic, and has been in the hospital for a few days.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. OK, then let’s just go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. Let’s see what we can do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-----------------------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy has his car here today, downtown. Something he didn’t have when he lived here. His parents wouldn’t let him take it when he left home after the fight. “Come on. I’ll drive. Just lead me there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess if we can’t get in, I’ll just find a cheap room for the night. Maybe on the better side of town.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“OK. I’ll help you find something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki starts directing Tommy which way to go. The drummer starts to feel a pang, as he’s getting closer to his old neighborhood.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, here,” Nikki says, pointing ahead. “I was lucky to get this place. It was just vacated a week earlier. The rent is easy, and it’s not a bad set-up,” Nikki says, as Tommy pulls up to the curb. Nikki gets out and walks towards the apartment; realizing after a few seconds that Tommy is still in the car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What wrong? Chickening out?” Nikki says, coming around to Tommy’s window.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nikki, uh….,” Tommy exhales loudly. “Nikki, this was my place. I’m the one who vacated. I lived here with Frankie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re shitting me. Come on, now. You’re joking.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. I…. oh my god…… your landlady is Ellie, right? My heart fell to pieces here,” Tommy says, putting his face in his hands to cry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki is at a loss of what to do. He reaches his hand through the window and pats Tommy on the back, stroking it lightly too. “Sorry. I didn’t know. What are the chances?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not you. That’s the thing. What are the chances? Why is this happening? This place holds my favorite memories and my worst ones.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen. We don’t have to go in. This is my problem anyway. I can come back tomorrow and try to reason with the bitch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do that, when I have this,” Tommy says, fishing his wallet out of his pocket, pulling Suzie’s key from it, holding it up in his shaky hand.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spare key that never got returned. Do you know if Ellie changed the locks?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Somehow I doubt that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here. Try it,” Tommy says to Nikki.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki takes the key, and walks to the door. The key fits, and the door is now unlocked. He comes back to the car towards Tommy. “I’m in. Let me grab my stuff. I don’t have a lot. You can wait here if you want or come in when you’re ready. The bitch doesn’t get off work until 10, so we have plenty of time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She takes the bus here, that late?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, her friend drives her home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m going in, OK?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy sits in the car, on the dark street. He’s thinking of Frankie. Why is all of this happening? Who was Frankie? While it’s quite possible that maybe Nikki had a twin, or a younger brother from his dad, especially given his parents’ separation and the situation with his sister disappearing, Tommy is starting to believe that maybe Frankie was simply here to save him. Maybe he was like his guardian angel. He saved his life, and led him off that dangerous job and back home, where he’s safe with his parents. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frankie has all but been wiped off this map. Nobody really knew him, he just came and went,without much of a trace left. But, Tommy can’t imagine why he’d have to go through so much pain if Frankie was meant to just be his protector. Was it to get him back home? And furthermore, what is with Nikki? There’s too many oddities going on that can’t be explained.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Frankie…. Please help me. If you can hear me right now, whether you’re a ghost or an angel or free spirit or I’m crazy or high or whatever, please help me understand. God, I just miss you so much. I miss you, Frankie. Please let me know you hear me. Is this all from you? Why is Nikki here? Why does he look like you. Or were you meant to look like him? You came here and you died for me. You saved me and I don’t know why,” Tommy whispers out into the cool night air between sobs. “Talk to me, Frankie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy sits there for a few minutes longer, trying to regain his composure, and then decides to let himself in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nikki?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, right here,” Nikki says, popping his head up from the floor on the side of the bed. “Sorry, I got some stuff stashed under here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy just stares at the bed. The bed that he and Frankie slept in together. The bed where he felt safe, until his security blanket died.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki looks back up. “Tommy? Are you OK?” Why don’t you sit?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy shakes his head out of his thoughts. “You know, Nikki, why are you leaving. This was a pretty good, little place. Throw her fucking stuff out and lock the door with the deadbolt. She can go with her damn friend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your fucking right, man. What the hell am I thinking? She’s got a sister around too. She has fucking places to go, and this place was mine before I let her move in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A smile crawls across Tommy’s face. “Come on, man. Hand me the shit. I’ll stack it up outside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two work in tandem for about 20 minutes, boxing up the strippers belongings, and putting them out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think this is about it,” Nikki says, handing Tommy a pair of high-heels and a wig. “Let me just double check everything. I don’t want her coming back for anything. I don’t ever want to see her again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Nikki. You think she’ll miss this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki turns around and sees Tommy posing with the long, blonde wig on. He starts laughing. So does Tommy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey now, sweet thing,” Nikki says, popping his eyebrows up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aw, go on. You’re just saying that,” Tommy says, putting his hand up to his mouth, like he’s touched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, here’s the thing, I only half mean it. I prefer brunettes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy quickly yanks the wig off and tosses it. “Better?” he says posing again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki bites his bottom lip, smiling. “Much,” he says, turning away, blushing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy smiles, then stoops down to pick up the wig and brings it out with the shoes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki checked around the apartment thoroughly, one last time, finally aiming a flashlight under the bed. Tommy sees him reaching for a few things under there. “Here Tommy, last few things. A barrette, a g-string, and a watch. Put ‘em out, and lock the fucking door. I’ll change the locks tomorrow. I’ll explain to Ellie when she gets back,” Nikki says, placing them in Tommy’s hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy steps outside, looking at the stuff in his hand, wondering how Nikki just nonchalantly handed him a used g-string; kind nasty. But underneath it, as he lifts the panties to toss them, the watch catches his eye. This isn’t her watch. It was Frankie’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How can that be? He never went without it. Tommy mindlessly drops the other items to the ground, and runs his fingers over the watch. Tears are starting to surface. How did Tommy not notice this when he was packing up his stuff. He looked under the bed. He’s sure the place would have been professionally cleaned in between renters; and the cleaning company didn’t find it either? Why did Frankie not have it on that day, or did he? Maybe the drummer mindlessly removed it from Frankie’s wrist while he was holding him. Tommy fiddles a lot, due to his ADD. He’ll mindlessly paws at things, and fiddles and rolls things around in his hands without realizing he’s doing it; probably much less so aware of these actions when he’s holding his dead friend. Maybe he removed it? He just doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know why or how the watch is still here. Tommy looks more closely at the watch underneath the porch light. It’s dead. The hands stopped at exactly 6 o’clock….. Tommy smiles…. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nikki Sixx O’Clock.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy sits on the grass near the strippers belongings. “Thank you, Frankie,” Tommy whispers, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m still trying to figure this all out, but somehow, I just think that you were brought into my life so that you can save it. And well, maybe I’m in a place where I should be now…. Safe, and with someone who maybe needs me and Suzie, just like I think I need him. Maybe Nikki and I were supposed to be together, but you had to step in to save my life? I don’t know, my friend. But I know now that I’m going to make our dreams come true, Frankie. You’ll see.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki steps outside. “Tommy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…. Um, I guess I got lost in thought,” Tommy says, sticking Frankie’s watch in his jacket pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s OK. Just a little worried about you. I know this has been emotional for you. Wanna come back in? Have something to drink?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Tommy says, getting up off the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steps in and Nikki locks and deadbolts the door. The deadbolt can only be locked from the inside when someone is home. There’s no keyhole for it on the outside. The girl won’t be able to get in with just the key.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Success. We make a good team,” Nikki smiles, tossing Tommy a beer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think so too,” Tommy smiles back, his eyes still wet and watery, but not caring. Nikki’s seen them like that multiple times today. “Um, I’m glad we met today. You might think I’m weird for saying this, but I think that we were meant to meet each other.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“After the things I’m learning today, I can’t say that I disagree with you. I think we’re a good match to maybe move forward together musically.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tommy says, sensing that there’s something more than just a matching interest in music between the two. He does find Nikki very attractive. He can’t be sure if Nikki has mutual feelings. He alluded to something like that a few times. He doesn’t know. Under any normal circumstances, if he wouldn’t read into something so much, with someone he just met, but this situation is different. He looks like Frankie, and while Tommy and Frankie never got involved romantically, there was attraction and intimate comfort in one another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You got any music here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No stereo, if that’s what you mean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Um, I should give you my little AM/FM radio. I used to put it right near the window for reception. I don’t need it at home. I have a stereo there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I just got my own music here,” Nikki says, motioning towards the bass. “Tommy?” Nikki says. “Would you mind if I try her out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Suzie?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Nikki replies, smiling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead, Nikki. Time to wake her up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki opens the case. “God, she’s such a beauty. They don’t make them like this anymore. I’m lucky to have this. When I heard you say the words Gibson Thunderbird in the store, I had to come over and see what you had. White… just like mine was.” He picks her up, running his fingers down the neck. He puts the strap on his shoulder. “Let me plug it into my amp. If it sounds shitty and static-y, it’s the amp.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki turns a few knobs and runs his fingers over the strings. He smiles. “It sounds good. Let me tune her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy is mesmerized by Nikki and bass. It looks like he was born with it on him. He’ll make it sound good, just like Frankie did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want me to play?” Nikki asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s heart is racing. He knows what he wants to say. It’s the last song that Suzie played. The song that he sang as Frankie took his last breath. But, Tommy feels compelled to hear Nikki play it; wondering if he sings too. “Tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? I can do that. Let’s see,” Nikki says, sticking his tongue out to concentrate while getting his bearings to place his fingers in the correct places on the strings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“When you smiled at me, and I saw your eyes. All I ever wanted to be is in your arms tonight. You looked too young to know about romance, oh yes you did. But when you smiled, I had to take a chance. I had to take a chance and be with you…. tonight...”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nikki sang, continuing on with the chorus, and then stopping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’d I do? I know, I’m not the best. And I sing like shit, but…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki looks up and sees Tommy tearing up again. “It was perfect, Nikki.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, thanks. I’ll get better. With this girl…. well, she feels at home in my hands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki plays a few scales, and then unplugs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t tell you how happy this makes me feel,” Nikki says, shaking his head, biting his lip. “Man, we gotta jam together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drums are at my house. Maybe you can come over?” Tommy suggests.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Let’s do that. I don’t have a car though. Does a bus run to your house?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Closest bus stop is about a 15 minute walk. It’s not bad. I can pick you up sometimes, or drop you off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What made you move back home?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, one, I couldn’t stay here. Not by myself, after Frankie died. But, I was also just lonely, and well, I guess i’ll just say that I feel safer at home. I left because my parents and I had a huge blowout about my direction in life. In hindsight, I can’t say they were completely wrong. My job here wasn’t a good one; pretty much hazardous to my health. And I missed my drums. My parents wouldn’t let me take them with me. I don’t know if Ellie wouldn’t have liked them anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened with your friend,” Nikki asks. “It’s OK, if you don’t want to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s OK. I feel like I can tell you. Well, kind of. Um, my job landed me in danger, and he stepped in and got killed. He was stabbed. He was protecting me. He always protected me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Tommy. Guess he was kind of like a guardian angel to you, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You think so?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do. Especially because you say he looked like me. I’d like to be that type of person. I’ve been through a lot, so I’m not afraid of much. I can’t say that I would have his same type of bravery when faced with a life and death situation, but I’d like to think that I would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He just made me feel safe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Were you two…. Well, you know…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you asking if we were together?” Tommy asks, smiling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s not my business.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, but… well, I don’t know how to explain it. We weren’t doing anything, but it still felt like we were together. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else around. We only knew each other for a little over a month, but it was the best month of my life. I think that I loved him. No, I know I did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never been in love,” Nikki reveals. “People like that stripper. It’s just for sex…. Maybe someone to talk to. But people like that, never have much of anything interesting to say. I get turned on by music. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, me too……. And Frankie,” Tommy giggles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s that mean to you that I look like him?” Nikki asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s actually a very deep question right at this moment. I’ve been trying to reconcile this in a logical way, all day. And I can’t. But, I think, during a few quiet moments to myself, that maybe I’ve found some peace through it all. Tonight, let’s just decide that we’re going to make our dreams come true, Nikki. You and I together. Our ideas and talents; I feel we’re destined to make something of ourselves. And by the way, I don’t think anymore that you looked like him. I think that he looked like you. It makes a difference in the way that I have to see things, so that I can begin to heal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki nods. “I’m not going to try to get into your head, but I am going to agree that we should consider ourselves a team; starting tonight,” Nikki grins. “You want another drink, or should I play some more?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d say yes, but I think I should get home. My parents worry, and I don’t want to fuck anything up. Staying out all night was one of the reasons that led to me leaving.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What if you called them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When I lived here, there was no phone. Had to walk two blocks to use the pay phone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, there’s still no phone, but you can use Ellie’s. She gave us the key to the inner door. Asked if I’d feed her cats while she’s in the hospital.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“OK. I guess I could use a little pet therapy at the same time. Bet the kitties miss their mommy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure they do. Come on.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-------------------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy and Nikki are now back in the garage apartment after playing with the cats for a little while. Tommy’s parents asked that he be home by midnight. Nikki took the bass back out, and jammed for a little while, then put her back, so he and Tommy can just shoot the breeze about music on the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not long after, there was a sudden rapid twisting of the doorknob, followed by a loud pounding. Tommy jumped out of his skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki jumped up off the couch. “It’s that fucking bitch.” He can now hear her yelling to let her in, along with a string of profanities.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki didn’t try to open the door, fearful she’d edge in, so he just yelled back. “You’re done here, bitch. Take your shit and leave. It’s all there!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The pounding continues for another few seconds, then things quiet down, with only the sound of a car engine idling and the rustling of belongings being picked up and carried away. There’s one more pounding on the door, which again makes Tommy jump, more profanities, followed by a car door slamming then driving away. It’s quiet now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki turns around smiling, “We did it! Stupid bitch is gone.” ….Only Tommy looks upset.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Tommy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. I’m OK.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? You’re upset.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s stupid, Nikki. I just always used to freak out with all the sounds out there. I wasn’t used to it. One night, someone was trying to break in, Frankie chased him away. It just freaked me out. The guy could have had a gun…. I’m sorry. It’s stupid. I need to grow up. Not every noise is a guy with a gun.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nikki sits on the couch next to Tommy. “I think we’re OK, but I guess I just feel a need to hug you,” Nikki says, wrapping his arms around the drummer. “We all got our fears.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy melts into Nikki’s arms. They’re protective, just like Frankie’s. He finally feels like he’s whole again; back to three Tommy, Nikki, and Suzie.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well, hope you liked it and that it wasn't a huge dumpster fire.</p><p>I wrote this, and I had to trim a lot of fat off the end scene. It got too long-winded. But as I was editing, I kept thinking of alternate scenarios. I ultimately kept this storyline with the uncertainty of who Frankie was, but I toyed with these:</p><p>1. Frankie WAS Nikki's brother. This scenario would have brought in another major level of emotion to the story for Nikki.<br/>2. Nikki leaves with the bass, after Tommy gave it to him. Tommy is sad, but works to try to move himself forward. Down the road, maybe a year later, he meets Nikki again, in a serendipitous manner, as Nikki is scouting out a drummer for Motley. They realize that their initial meeting at the music shop was meant to be, and Suzie definitely put in the right hands.</p><p>But, I decided to go with this. It was written, and there were some parts that I liked.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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